Snape Takes A Holiday
by ozma914
Summary: On assignment from Hogwarts, Snape enters a world of beautiful people, fun in the sun, and constant good times, while searching for a young woman. Whether he wants to or not.
1. Chapter 1

Severus Snape paused at the beach entrance. Before him, bronzed young people laughed and played in the deep, soft sand and the warm waters of the Mediterranean. Beautiful women in outfits that covered far less than underwear would engaged in games, splashing, and the fine art of tanning beneath a perfect, clear blue sky.

It was exactly the kind of torture he'd always imagined the South of France to be.

He pulled himself together, put on his best public scowl, and tried to flare his robes as he stepped forward. Nothing flared. In an attempt to fit in, he'd traded the robes for a black long sleeve shirt, black trousers, and black boots. Judging from the stares he got as he strode down the beach, he might as well have left the robes on and engaged in a good, satisfying, billow.

Snape's target lay half reclined in one of a short row of wooden folding chairs, otherwise empty despite the crowd. From time to time young men would pass by, give her a once-over, then shake their heads and walk away.

Odd, that. Much as he hated to admit it, she had quite a lovely body despite the bright flowered bikini. Her skin gleamed from a combination of sunblock and sweat, making her look almost sexy if you didn't consider it was from sunblock and sweat. They were probably put off by the book she'd buried her nose in, something half a foot thick by Winston Churchill. Or it could be the wild, frizzy hair, worse than ever in this humid hell.

He stopped before her, struck and intimidating pose, and waited.

It was impossible to say which way she was looking, thanks to the oversized sunglasses, but after a moment she turned a page and held the book a bit closer to her face. Snape sighed. He hated wasting an intimidating pose. He had to admire her concentration, though, especially with the competing screeches of pop music and hip-hop aimed at them like eardrum piercing guns from either direction down the beach. He reluctantly took a seat beside her, then adjusted it so he could sit straighter. This "reclining" business was beneath him.

After a moment, Snape felt sweat begin to gather in uncomfortable places beneath his dark clothes. He surreptitiously reached into his shirt pocket for his wand, and cast a quick cooling spell. Then he studied Hermoine's pale skin, and magically shifted an umbrella until its shade covered her.

Finally, the girl stirred. "I do appreciate your concern, but I'd really just as soon be left—"

The moment she glanced his direction was quite obvious. Her book arced out over the chair, planting Churchill's face in the sand. She vaulted to a sitting position and tore off her sunglasses, revealing wide eyes. "Professor Snape!"

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger. I must ask, as you're someone who usually appears to be of reasonable intelligence: Could you not just as easily read in the air-conditioned comfort of your hotel room?"

She sputtered. He rather enjoyed the sputtering, but luckily he had long practice in avoiding the appearance of enjoying himself.

But all good things must come to an end, and soon the girl pulled herself together, more or less.  
"I heard of your survival, but … what are you doing here?"

"Enjoying the sun. Naturally."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment, open-mouthed. Then she looked him up and down and giggled. "How about the truth, then?"

Sadly, his former student seemed to have adjusted to the situation. "Very well. As you have refused to answer any communication, I have volunteered to make contact with you."

That shut her up.

"The magical world is in chaos, Miss Granger. I realize you have certain … wounds to heal, but your attendance is needed." He glanced at her arm, where the bare outline of a scar still remained.

"Is it?" She looked away, staring off toward the sea. Snape waited. He'd become very good at waiting, especially after his hours spent dead. It was a bit of a chore to smell the sea breeze and not enjoy it, but he managed.

Hermione giggled again. "Is this your attempt to blend in? You're the only person on the beach wearing a long sleeve shirt and trousers."

"Melanoma is a terrible thing, Miss Granger, and wizards are not immune. At least I didn't have to slather on a gallon of sunblock, as you did."

She looked down as if just now realizing how she'd dressed, then self-consciously pulled a beach towel over her torso. "I just—I needed a holiday, Professor. I was going to come back."

"Your return will, at the very least, quiet the tragic caterwauling of Ron Weasley."

She turned sharply back to him. "Who sent _you_? It certainly wasn't Harry."

"Potter and I have settled our differences." Not that they were ever likely to get on. "He, despite his age, has been put to work tracking down the remnants of the Death Eaters; it seems he has an affinity for the task. In point of fact, over the last few months every wizard on this side of the planet has been doing damage control, or has been hunting the side that lost, or _is_ the side that lost … or is finishing the grieving process."

With a gasp, Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth. "Ron—!"

Now came the part Snape looked forward to the least, the part that had caused him to campaign against this job. But McGonnagall had, wisely, hidden him away from both the unbelieving public and vindictive Death Eaters. Unfortunately, that left him with little to do before he could resume his Potions job in the fall. That left him, in other words, available for dirty jobs.

"The Weasleys are together, as a family. They are recovering, and could manage without you for a time … if anything, it was for the best that they have the time together." It was, perhaps, a better situation than that experienced by a double agent thought dead, who had to work through his issues without a support group. Not that he needed other people for support. Because he didn't.

Snape caught Hermione looking at him, and wondered if he'd let the facade slip. "It was Professor McGonagall who sent me, Miss Ganger—Headmaster McGonagall."

"Oh." She thought about it for a moment. "She's rather taken your job then, hasn't she?"

He felt his eyebrows rise. Several responses came to him: Sardonic, angry, unemotional, some combination of all. Then he looked at the girl, saw the return of her innate curiosity, and something in him pushed for the truth. "I was uncomfortable in the position of Headmaster … granted the circumstances, but I don't believe it's the line of work I'd prefer. The new Headmaster has given me my old position back, and other than a certain … aloneness without students these last weeks, it's where I prefer to be."

Hermione studied him closely. Now, _this_ was uncomfortable, but for some reason Snape felt a sense of … almost relief, to let that wall crack a bit. Not that he'd be crying on her bare shoulder anytime soon.

But his former student, it seemed, wasn't ready to deal with that. "What exactly does Headmaster McGonagall need me for?"

_Very well, then_. "It will hardly surprise you that submissions for this year's classes have been sparse, considering Hogwarts was the center of a deadly battle. She said, quote, I need our best student back to bring us a sense of normalcy, unquote. She wants you to finish your N.E.W.T.S., and perhaps assist as a student teacher until the faculty has been built back up." Snape cleared his throat. "Potter and Ron Weasley have chosen to drop out, and good riddance to them."

"Oh." She looked toward her book, still stuck Prime Minister-first in the sand. "I see." She climbed out of her chair, grabbing the towel in one hand as she bent over to retrieve the volume.

That put her sparsely clad bum directly in Snape's line of sight. He looked away. _Cheeky girl. Heh._

She perched on the chair, no longer relaxed, and used the towel to wipe off the book in quick, jerky motions. It was as if the last several weeks, away from the front lines of a war, had never happened. "Miss Granger, I took the liberty earlier of preparing a potion that would assist in your stress levels, should you ..."

Her wild hair had fallen so he couldn't see her face, but Hermione shook her head.

"Very well. I do realize that you were under intense pressure, having undergone torture and extreme hardship … and that in addition to being with Potter and Weasley, you also had the war to contend with."

Now Hermione twisted around, her face raw with shock. "Did you just tell a _joke_?"

Snape gave a quick bow, mostly to hide his smile. "We've all seen changes, these last months."

She laughed—a nervous, barking laugh—then sat back again, her gaze going out to the horizon. Snape, practicing his patience, also turned that way, and waited.

It wasn't long before Hermione spoke again, reminding Snape that he wasn't the only one who didn't like just sitting around, without something to do. "Of course I'm going back. But … I don't have to go back just yet, do I?"

"You do not. We can continue to holiday for a few weeks, although I would suggest something off the shore. Museums, perhaps, or concerts."

He felt, more than saw, her attention turn to him. "We?"

"My lessons are prepared, my classroom ready, and quite frankly I could use a holiday myself. Since you are done with your potions classes, I see no reason why we can't be … companionable." Snape turned, to gauge her reaction.

For a long moment Hermione stared at him. Then she forced her mouth shut and blinked. Then she smiled. "Do you … and you must promise not to make fun of me … fancy touring some of the historical libraries of Europe?"

"Architecture and old books. Yes, I might glean some enjoyment from that pursuit, and it would have the advantage of getting us off this bloody beach." He stood, and offered his arm. "Come along then, Miss Granger, and I shall treat you to dinner … after you change." He saw no reason to inform her of Potter's and Weasley's separate requests that he keep an eye on her.

She wrapped the towel around her and then, book in one hand and Snape in the other, headed out. "I'd be delighted."

That response seemed to surprise her and much as it did him.

A/N: _The title was inspired by the movie "Death Takes a Holiday", and so could have just as easily been "Death Eater Takes a Holiday"._


	2. Awkward Conversation

_A/N: I had intended for this to be a standalone story, but people kept asking me how Snape survived … and I also promised to write fanfiction to celebrate original fiction advances, like my book contract with Arcadia Publishing. So …_

"So, how did you survive-?"

Hermione looked annoyed when the waiter approached. Snape might have smiled, if he was inclined to do such things. She'd been quiet since the moment she emerged from the changing room, wearing a colorful sundress that was slightly less revealing than the bikini she'd worn on the beach. Apparently she was rebelling against the drab, conservative dress of Hogwarts.

Equally revealing was his former student's silence. Only one topic of conversation could shut Granger's mouth for their entire walk to the restaurant … the same topic that kept him silent as he tried to figure out a way to avoid it.

There was no good way to talk about death, especially one's own.

Hermione ordered in passable French, while the waiter looked down the neckline of her dress. Sitting even straighter than usual, Snape put on his best glare and aimed it with laser precision at the man. The waiter faltered, glanced up, then straightened himself. Eyes wide, he stammered something in English.

"I will also have the Coquilles Saint-Jacques. With Chablis, and buche for desert. You will keep your gaze from them."

With a start, Hermione looked up from the menu.

Snape continued, without looking away from the now trembling waiter. "So much as a glance will result in severe … consequences."

With a quick nod, the waiter scurried away.

"What was that all about?" Hermione demanded. "How in the world is he to serve our food if he doesn't look at it?"

Snape gestured—ever so briefly—at the point just above where the swell of her breasts emerged from the sundress. "You were asking about my death."

"But—oh!" Her hand fluttered to her chest, and a blush spread all the way down her neck.

"If you don't mind my saying, Miss Granger …"

"Yes, your ..." She looked away. "I wanted to get as far from possible from my life, you see. Location, activities … style of dress …"

"I assume you're going to burn the contents of your suitcase before returning to Hogwarts in the fall."

"I'm thinking about burning them right now."

The waiter appeared beside them again, clutching the Chablis and two glasses. "Madam, I wish to apologize for my earlier behavior."

Snape's head jerked up. The waiter's voice was suddenly higher, rougher, as if it was someone else trying to imitate the man. Yet he looked exactly the same.

"Apology accepted," Hermione told him, a little uncertainly, as the waiter poured their drinks with horrible technique.

"Here in this world, there is nothing wrong with your style of dress." Snape made no attempt to sound reassuring, especially since his words were not, strictly speaking, meant for her. "There is no sign of _our_ world here." He looked at the waiter. "None whatsoever."

The waiter spilled a little and, apologizing profusely, wiped it up.

"Therefore," Snape continued, "No one has any reason to complain about you wearing summer clothing in the south of France, during summer."

As the waiter moved away, Hermione gave her dinner companion an odd look. "Thank you. I'm trying to decide if this topic of conversation is meant to divert me from the other topic of conversation."

"I would prefer a third topic, something less volatile. Politics. Religion. My former associates."

She took a huge gulp from the glass, then wrinkled her nose in a way that would be almost cute if not for the accompanying gagging sound. "Perhaps discussing your former associates covers all three of those."

He'd never thought of it that way before, and now inclined his head in agreement. To delay the inevitable, he took a drink. Considering they were in France, the Chablis was, of course, superb. "Sip it, Miss Granger. It's not butterbeer."

"Harry says he saw you die." Hermione fidgeted in her seat.

"Potter is not nearly as observant as he imagines."

She started to argue, then took a sip as instructed. "It's good. I think. It tastes … like steel. And it smells like it just rained."

Hermione looked into her glass, and Snape used the moment to impulsively kick out to the side, where the waiter had been. His boot caught something, and he heard the smallest of cries and a gentle waft of moving material. "Potter, in addition to not being observant, is slow on the uptake and on connecting the proverbial dots. You, on the other hand, are both intelligent and observant, so you tell me: How did I manage to stay alive?"

"Well, you were—did you just compliment me?"

"I'm told there is a blue moon over France tonight."

"Did you just make _another_ joke? That's two in one day." She sipped her drink again, holding it in her mouth for a contemplative moment.

"I'll chance the injury to my reputation."

"All right, fine. You were bitten by a giant, highly poisonous snake. Obviously, the venom …" Hermione trailed off. "You knew you might get bitten by Nagini, someday."

"Of course."

"So you made a potion that vaccinated you against the venom!" Looking triumphant, Hermione forgot her previous instructions and took a swallow of the Chablis.

"Obviously there was a chance Nagini might be used against me, so over time I was able to build up an immunity to the snake's venom." Snape almost smirked at the idea of cheating death, but then he shook his head. "It still affected me to some degree—and I did not take into account the probability of blood loss. Naturally, I would not have given my memories over to Potter if I hadn't thought …"

"You did believe you were dying." Sympathy shone in her eyes, or pity. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.

"But I did recover, eventually, and when someone finally came for my body they found me to be more or less alive. To many, that will come as something of a surprise this autumn, but by then the wizarding world should be more stabilized."

"I think I've learned more about you today than all the time we've known each other."

"Don't get used to it." Some part of Snape's mind admitted to liking this opportunity, to talk about himself a little. The rest of his mind slapped that part down. "And now, Miss Granger, we will speak no more of my death, or my life, or your choice of clothing. There surely must be more pleasant—"

"I'll be right back." Hermione clutched the edge of the table and jerked to her feet.

Trying to hide his concern, Snape also rose. "Do you require-?"

"No, no … I just need to powder my nose." She hurried away, in the general direction of the loo.

"Alcohol will have that effect on people," Snape murmured, retaking his seat. Then he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. The same waiter was beside him in a flash. "Potter, what the devil do you think you're doing?"

The waiter frowned. "How did you—"

"It was either you or Weasley, and he has his hands full elsewhere. It can be assumed you also had assistance, considering your complete incompetence at making Polyjuice Potion. You just can't seem to keep from spying on people."

"I'm not spying!"

"Then what were you doing?"

"I was …" The waiter faltered. "Looking out for my friend."

"In other words, spying. I promised you and the Weasleys that I would look after Miss Granger, in case you've forgotten. Also—in case you've forgotten—I keep my promises."

"I—I know. I'm sorry, Professor."

"If our randy server hadn't offended your delicate sensibilities, you might have gotten away with skulking in the cloak." He almost admired Potter's clearly inherited ability at stealth. "I assume the real waiter is unharmed?"

Harry shrugged. "He might wake up with a crick in his neck. He deserves worse for looking down Hermione's blouse."

"Agreed. However, Miss Granger is quite able to look after herself, and if circumstances dictate, I'm capable of providing the required assistance."

The waiter with Potter's voice hesitated. Against his better judgment, Snape softened his voice. "Miss Weasley and her simpering brother need you …go back to them. I'll look after the situation here."

After a moment, Harry nodded. "But you will burn that bathing suit, won't you?"

Perhaps the unfortunate loss of Miss Granger's suitcase was covered under "required assistance". "Count on it."


End file.
